


Oh, haven't you heard?

by Howardson



Series: MH stories/one shots i'm barfing out during quarantine [7]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Inspired by Avatar: The Last Airbender, air bender au, how the turns have tabled, implied past Jay Merrick/Alex Kralie, possible Jay Merrick/Timothy Wright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howardson/pseuds/Howardson
Summary: Entry #80 but Alex has activated Jay's trump card
Series: MH stories/one shots i'm barfing out during quarantine [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725586
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Oh, haven't you heard?

**Author's Note:**

> um I tried a new pov so this might be wacky.
> 
> There's two curse words if that bothers you

You always thought being a bender didn’t do yourself any favors. 

It’s not like you could do any cool things. You couldn’t shoot fireballs, control the waves, or shape the earth to how you imagined.

Air was your element. What could air do anyways? Blow some papers around, knock some chairs over maybe.

It was taught in school that once there were Air nomads. The people of the tribes could control the currents and fly. Even jump to incredible heights. 

You sometimes think about what it would be like to fly. But then remember a person can’t actively practice their bending unless you sign your rights away to the army.

The population of benders has steadily gone down. Religions had gotten the idea that bending the elements was against God’s will, and therefore needed to be exterminated. Those times have mostly passed, but culture still reeks of hate.

So, you keep it on the down low. No one has to know. Not even your best friend.

Said friend who is pointing a gun at you. The best friend who you dropped everything for time and time again. The friend who has been actively trying to kill you for the past four years.

Time freezes as the trigger is pulled.

After all this time, this was your end? Live a short miserable life to bleed out in Benedict Hall’s basement? No. You’re Jay FUCKING Merrick and you’ve held back for too long. 

All the rage, loneliness, desperation, years of paranoia is let out in one loud screech. The wind is picked up, dust and debris (and probably pestilence) swirls, and in one swift motion you drop the camera and reach out your hands as the hall echoes the gunshot.

You stand, eyes clenched, waiting for the pain of death to come. It doesn’t. The sound of wind rushing brings you back to yourself and you lock eyes with Alex across the hall. Eyes staring in horrified bewilderment at the bullet mere centimeters from your fingers.

Not thinking much (when have you done that lately) you move. You shift your stance and twist around, willing the wind encased bullet to follow, keeping the momentum as you face Alex again you release the wind and watch as Alex stumbles and falls to his knees. 

He looks up at you and chokes up blood. Alex drops the gun and fully lays onto the ground clutching his wound on his side. The adrenaline wears off quickly for you.

“Shit, Alex!” You run to him. Gather him into your arms. 

“Huh”Alex grunts, “It’s always the quiet ones.” You huff a laugh and roughly replace his blood soaked hand to keep pressure on the wound.

“We could have worked together. Solved this together! You didn’t-”

“Promise me” Alex attempts to sit up, but fails and lays more limp into your arms, blood dribbling down his chin. 

“Promise what? What could I possibly do in this situation” Alex wheezes and you’re not sure if it’s an attempt at laughing or breathing. He slowly reaches his bloodied hand up to cup your face to wipe at the tears you hadn’t noticed.

“Kill anyone who’s left. Then yourself.” He starts to lose his grip on your face. Giving up on the wound you hold his hand firmly in place. 

You don’t dignify that with a response. Your best friend has been dead for years. His body is just now catching up. 

Alex’s breathing stills, his hand slips from your face. 

You let yourself cry over the man you used to love. You cry until the sun goes down and you hear Tim bust in, likely ready for a showdown with Alex, only for him to find you softly weeping over his dead body. 

That night Tim doesn’t say anything when you crawl into his bed. He allows you to bury yourself into his chest and sleep a little easier with his fingers combing through your hair.

**Author's Note:**

> this was kinda rushed and ended weird but this au has been floating around my head for a while, so I had to.
> 
> thoughts?


End file.
